


The Demon Takes His Coffee Black and the Angel Asks For Cream

by Chelsnic, Madam_King



Series: The Demon Takes His Coffee Black and the Angel Asks For Cream [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angels and Demons, Angst, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Biblical References, Biblical Themes, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Humanity is sinful, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Small Death, The angel Jeremiel, The authors are not religious, The demon András, This is all so incorrect, We also made Flauros a hellhound, Written as a project, but cute, mild violence, we made them love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelsnic/pseuds/Chelsnic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_King/pseuds/Madam_King
Summary: In an altruistic world, monsters only exist in stories, but for this autumn morning two monsters, masked as men, walked into a café. Other patrons paid no heed to the couple's sudden arrival, carrying on with their bland, pedestrian tasks─ drinking coffee, reading the Daily, checking e-mails. If only they knew what lay underneath.





	

**Author's Note:**

> “Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters.”  
> ─Kahlil Gibran

In an altruistic world, monsters only exist in stories, but for this autumn morning two monsters, masked as men, walked into a café. Other patrons paid no heed to the couple's sudden arrival, carrying on with their bland, pedestrian tasks─ drinking coffee, reading the Daily, checking e-mails. There was an aroma of contentment in this quaint café of spices and roasting grounds, the ambiance meant to enervate the hustle and bustle of the busy world just outside. Both men took their spot in line. The shorter of the two surveyed the baroque café. The establishment was covered in bauble decorations of the harvest season and Halloween. It wasn’t very crowded for the busiest time of day, only a few customers were in line besides them. He crinkled a brow as he peered down at an adolescent boy affront him, the glowering face of boy’s phone displaying a bestial game of guns and fervent murder. “How barbarous,” the man murmured, low enough only his companion could hear.

The other fellow standing behind him scoffs, affectionately placing a hand upon the latter’s shoulder. They watched as the boy and his mother move off to settle in their seats and wait for their orders. “Next, please,” the young barista called from behind the counter, her calm demeanor and easy smile exuding a sanguine glow.

Finally, the second man spoke up, “Decaf.”

“Room for cream?” The girl asked, plugging in the order.

“No, thank you. Black is fine,” he nodded, his order finished. The young barista pauses before remembering to ask ‘what size’. He answers with a simple, “Large.”

“And for you?” she asked again, but this time to the smaller male. 

“A large vanilla iced coffee. Extra cream. Please.” He replied, tight lipped.

Jessica, read her nametag, kept her professional pose and nodded, ringing up his order before asking, “For here or to go?”

“Here,” both men answered.

Jessica parted from the counter to coffee bar and began filling the order while the duo took up a table out on the café’s veranda. They settled into the antique chairs across from the other. “Eremiel, you needn’t be so scurrilous toward the apes. They know no better,” emendated Eremiel’s companion. 

“I know, András, I needn’t a reminder, thank you. However, for been given many millenniums, they are still rather parochial in their abilities.” He snipped as he folds his hands together and gave the window beside him a sour face. 

András chuckled, watching his partner rationalize his antithesis behavior. “What brings this on, Eremiel? Not are you this quick to judge the little humans.” 

Eremiel sighed, visually deflating and any irritation seeming to leave him. “I apologize, I’m ruining our morning with petty tantrums.” Feeling slightly ignoble for being a bit of a boor, he, in an attempt to rectify his actions, smiled at the other. “Perhaps we venture a little trip somewhere after we acquire our drinks? I saw a small craft store not far from here. Sounds like it could be interesting.” 

András pinned daggers at the seraph across him who knows full well his antipathy for crafts. “Is that your way of administering a sadistic punishment upon me because truly I am sorry.” He joked. Before hearing Eremiel’s response, Jessica, the barista from before, appeared, a coffee in each hand. 

“Here are your orders,” she announced as she neared, however, forgetting her foothold, Jessica suddenly tripped forward, accidentally sloshing hot coffee on Eremiel. Interestingly, the angel didn’t yelp or react, only frowned at his now wet lap. He had liked those pants. In the midst of sporadic apologizing and chagrin hand gestures for her debacle, Jessica suddenly paused, noticing the lack of response from Eremiel and the hot coffee now adorning his clothes. 

Oblivious to this, Eremiel looked up to András with a displeased raised brow, only to receive a knowing look. Quickly realizing his error, he jolted to his feet, brushing at the besmirched area and muttered a weak, “Ow.” Putting on his best polite smile he could manage, he proceeded to ask for a napkin. 

Jessica hesitantly handed him one, quietly leaving the bedlam to replace the order. András sat silently ruminating before taking a spiteful sip of the angel’s coffee.

Eremiel stares at him blankly, unamused, “I’d happily give you your coffee if I could, but it happens to be on my pants at the moment.”

“Rather difficult way to drink it, I’d say. This tastes exquisite, by the way,” he mused, clearly enjoying the situation. He slid the container across the table to Eremiel. 

Retaking his seat, Eremiel raised his leg up, resting his right ankle on his left knee. He shot András a look as he lifted the cup to his lips, enjoying the vanilla flavor. The sacrosanct brunet shrugged casually, “It’s adequate.” András shook his head, smirking.

Finally, the callow Jessica returned, András’ black in tow. She stopped an inch from the table, careful as to her surrounds, before placing the steaming brew down. She giggled nervously, “I apologize once again. I, uh, went ahead and took the first drink off the bill. Please, enjoy,” she ended, leaving the two to their drinks and stained pants. András savored the rich olfactory stimuli of Brazilian grounds and the ephemeral hint of hazelnut attacking his nose before taking a slow sip. 

“Even the score?” András offered, holding out the cup. Eremiel nodded and leaned forward, letting the unholy other hold the cup as he took a sip. A mere second later he jerked his mouth away, face scrunched in disgust. He shook his head and went back to drinking his own, the cold sweetness of his washing away the hot bitterness of András’ order. 

They sit in collective silence for a bit, letting each other’s presence and the serenity of the café surround them. The tranquil atmosphere had been interrupted briefly by a commotion at the cash register. The two beings watch as a brute of a man yelled at Jessica, the poor girl, who obviously seemed effete at this point. For all that it’s worth, she did not cry, only handed the man a refund and watched as he stormed out, not a single rebuttal leaving her. ‘It’s sad,’ Eremiel thought, ‘how cruel mankind can be.’ Just halfway done with his vanilla iced coffee, Eremiel stood. “Ready to go if you are.” He stated. András nodded.

The steam of their drinks blew in the gentle wind of the crisp fall. The two walked quietly beside each other, occasionally sipping their coffee and observing the life around them. In their small town home, everything seemed unhurried from a distance, but given a closer look, life was swarming, thriving, all around András and Eremiel. As was death. 

They journeyed on, window shopping and making light conversation, when the ear-splitting screech of tires halted them in their tracks. Both men scanned the area, their attention suddenly pulled to matted lump in the middle of the road. András and Eremiel deviated from their window promising opulent sales, to walk a bit closer.

“Ah, what a waste. Seemed to be a Shepherd… of sorts,” András surmised, monotonous. 

Eremiel gave a short hum in agreement, “The soul still takes breath, however.” He gazed at it, his face holding no deference to the dog. “The poor thing is in pain.” 

“The dog is still alive?” Andra asked, incredulously. 

Eremiel nodded, watching the emaciated animal give the faintest of twitches. “It is sad,” he noted, “I think it’s always been sad.” 

András peers over Eremiel, the tiny break in his stoic facade not unnoticed by him. The Angel of Hopeful Dreams, András thought, how many sick and dying he has guided into a last slumber. More than enough, András finished, unconsciously resting his hand atop Eremiel’s shoulder once again, “There are too many prying eyes; we cannot interfere, Eremiel. Let us leave.”

Eremiel sighed, earthbound and tired, “Yes, we should.” They turned a blind eye to the suffering animal, like everyone else, and continued along the sidewalk. In the distance the sound of a sorrowful knell can be ironically heard.

 

*

 

For most of the way, they exchanged few words and even fewer glances with one another, far too consumed in their private innerworkings and not before long they disposed of their coffee in a trash bin, respectively. It was nearing noon when the next of András and Eremiel fortuitous encounter presented itself: a homeless man. The man was older and wore dishevelled, raggedy clothes, his importune manner making other passersby eschew away from his outstretched hand. 

“Spare change? Please, anything helps.” He begged, a cardboard sign in one hand, a dirty mug in the other. His motions were uncoordinated, as if he couldn’t differentiate what was and wasn’t. Upon closer inspection of the glassy, paleness of the man’s eyes, Eremiel realized he really couldn’t. The man was blind. 

“A blind beggar. Your God’s humor truly knows no bounds,” András challenged. 

“Please refrain from denouncing my Father before me. Only fools speak of things they can not understand.” Eremiel scoffed, feeling a sense of déjà vu. 

“Catty, aren’t we?” András chuckled. “Here, allow me to repent,” he added, reaching for his wallet, but is stopped by the angry voice of another,

“God, you’re a pathetic, lazy old man! Stop begging for money and get a job like the rest of us!” A man dressed in a fine tailored suit, barked, spitting on the homeless man for added flare. András stands unperturbed and walked onward. He solemnly bended down and pressed cash into the blind man’s calloused hand. Eremiel watched as András whispered something to the man before returning. Eremiel threw András an inquisitive glance, but the demon quickly dismissed it with a, “Shall we go?”

However, drowned out by car horns and a flagger’s whistle, a faint ‘I can see!’ could be heard. 

 

*

 

Eremiel idly scanned over a few sweaters hanging on a rack. The two had ended up stepping into a grocery store next. It had only been a good five-minutes time before he had lost his bonafidely sneaky demon, who he suspects wandered into the Halloween section when he wasn’t looking. There’s a purple sweater that caught his eye, enough to where he ferreted it and inspected it, when a loud crash caught his attention. Setting the article of clothing back, he ventured off to figure out the source of loud accusing shouts. What he found a few aisles over were two sisters, one who looks to be in her teenage years and the smaller seems of ten, give or take a few years. The older one glares at the younger girl, hands on her hips. “Freaking dang it Emma, you broke it!” She exclaimed, pointing toward the shards of what once was an angel figurine, but now is only a mess on the floor. 

“It fell on its own! I didn’t do it!” The girl extenuated, huffing and stomping her light-up Twinkle Toes shoes. 

“Bullcrap! Now what are we supposed to do, huh? This is all your fault, all you ever do is screw everything up!” The older sister blamed.

Emma doubled back, shocked, anger morphing into pain on her face. “No… no, I don’t, Lindsey, I don’t,” she defended, her voice growing small. 

“Yes, you do! This is why nobody ever wants to be around you, you always cause problems for them!” Linsey bit out venomously. “Just─ just stay here, I’m going to find something else to buy for Mom.” Turning, Lindsey found Eremiel staring intently at them. “What’re you looking at you, you disgusting sicko? Mind your own business!” 

Eremiel blinked himself back to reality. “I, my apologies,” he excused himself, started to make a move to leave, but stopped. Turing to Emma, “Never be ashamed to make mistakes; somehow they always find a way to mend themselves.” He left Emma to ponder his meaning, when suddenly it dawned on the ten-year-old as she peered down in bewilderment at the glass angel, free of even the tiniest of imperfections.

Eremiel found András where he expected he would; looking over different costumes. “I had hoped you had yet to break anything,” he greeted. 

András grinned sheepishly, holding the evidence of what used to be a Styrofoam skull.  
“I had thought it to be plastic,” he explained, the tips of long fingers impaling the impotent Styrofoam skull. 

“You are a child,” Eremiel teased without heat, stepping forward and pulling the damaged skull off the demon’s fingers. “I can not take you anywhere.”

“Yes, yes, but first,” András paused, “behold.” He holds a dog costume. “For Flauros.”

“How cute,” he replied dryly, perusing over the devil costume. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the irony as much as you clearly do.”

The demon chuckled, more pleased with himself than Eremiel is and despite Eremiel’s obvious disapproval of both the costume and Halloween, he resigns himself to buying the devildog get-up anyways. But not before the couple made a few stops around the store for some essentials. In the frozen food section, András drummed his fingers against the cart handle, waiting for Eremiel to decide over chocolate or rocky road ice-cream. 

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s an extremely imperative decision, András. Have patience.” He chided. 

András’ rolling eyes landed on his wedding band and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He gingerly fiddled with it, his same eyes impulsively locating the owner of the matching gold band. He barely noticed the elderly woman who started to pass them by, catching the way he held his ring and stared at the seraph. Nor did Eremiel, who held up the rocky road container, gloating and oblivious to it all, and set it in the cart. “There I’m done, now did it kill you to wait a minute or two on me?” He asked, giving the other a smile full of false I-could-do-no-wrong innocence.  
“Ugh, could you not do that? There are children here,” the elderly lady cut in with a spat, adding, “that’s a sin in the eye’s of the Lord,” as she strolled off. “Fags…”

Eremiel recoiled at the harsh words, jaw locked. His eyes flickered away from the woman to the ice-cream. A tense moment passed as he stared hard at the rocky road before he spoke up, “I’m done for the night. Let us go home.” 

András’ hooded eyes darkened, white-knuckling the cart handle to restrain the carnal, amoral monster waging just below his surface. He swallowed thickly, “Yes, let me pay for these first. Go wait outside. I’ll be done shortly.”

Eremiel sighed, turning to leave, agreeing upon the optimum choice. “I’ll be out front.” 

“And, Eremiel,” András interjected, calling him back. He wanted to say it, to express it in words, that if somehow he did, everything they had gone through wasn’t for naught. But he couldn’t.

“I know.” Eremiel stopped him. It was small, it was tired, but there was a smile on his face that existed only for András. His eyes crinkled as they held a soft gleam to them. They didn’t have to say it. “I know.” He left the other with those parting words, not knowing what is imminent. 

He made his way outside, stepping out into the cold, starless night. There’s still a gentle breeze, it fluttered through his brown locks as he stood under the concrete overhanging patiently. Absently, he surveyed the parking lot to occupy his time, not taking any extra time on anything. Maybe that’s why he noticed them before they approached, despite their efforts to stay hidden from him. There were four of them, men, from what he could tell. As they edged closer, the dim lights hitting their faces, their intentions patent.

“Out here all alone, sir? Little dangerous don’t’cha think? Never know what could happen to a handsome guy like yo’self,” the apparent alpha of the group questioned, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Another member drew closer, smug written all over his face. “Yous could get really hurt, ya know?” There was a collective chuckle amongst the group. Eremiel must have missed the joke.

“Please, leave, I don’t have the energy to deal with the likes of you humans anymore.” He advised. 

The leader raised a curious brow at the word ‘human’, but nevertheless crept closer, intimidatingly reaching into his pocket, “Yous a weird one all right, but with shoes like those, you gotta be packen cash, so hand it here. All of it.”

Uninterested, Eremiel digged out his wallet and tossed it to the man, hoping he’ll now be left alone. The group crowded their leader, trying to get a chance to paw at the wallet, but the billfold is thrown to the ground. “Is this some kinda joke? Ain’t nuffin in that! Where’s the real cash? Huh?” he seethed, “get him!” he ordered, the three other men jumping Eremiel. Two of them held his arms while the third searched Eremiel’s person. He retreated, nothing but change and a faded picture of two men and a black dog on Eremiel. 

“This is all there was,” he hands the items to the alpha.

“You playin’ games with me, man? Huh? Dis is some bullshit right here! Where’s the money? Is it in those fancy shoes of yours? No? Well, why don’t I check for myself? Take his shoes off,” his ordered once again, trashing the photograph below his heel. 

Eremiel started to resist, eyes locked on the now crushed picture, but a strike to the stomach ceased his struggles. He could stop them without lifting a finger. He had the power to incinerate them with the blink of an eye. A second’s tic of a clock and they’d be destroyed. But at the same time he cannot. He can’t interfere with his Father’s creation as that. What is he without his mercy? Without his forgiveness and faith? So, when his shoes were snatched from his feet, when he was slammed onto the pavement, when the gang vented their frustrations out upon him, blow after blow, he did nothing to defend himself. He simply endured. 

Despite the sickening sounds of reckless punches and broken bones, an eerie silence befalls the little grocery parking lot as one, just one word, slices through the air.

“Enough.”

The men stopped.

They saw but one man.

Yet, whispers of some forgotten place told them it wasn’t a man. 

But a monster. 

“You… humans,” the creature draws, the word ‘human’ like acid on his tongue, “I can remember the first time I ever saw one; so fleshy, so pink. I thought, ‘Why would God ever create such an ugly, hairless thing? All it ever did was piss and shit and cry.’ I had asked God why, why we should love these hapless beings? And do you know what He replied? ‘For I saith, that is why’. I questioned Him, you see, my halfling self unable to resist. And with my thoughts unanswered, my frustration, my hatred festered Now, here you are, millennia later, still the same.” András ended, gently setting down the bag of groceries, before calmly strolling to the operation’s mastermind. 

“Y- you’re crazy, man.”

“Indeed,” the demon sneered, knocking out thug in one fowl swoop to the temple. He spun around to face of the three remaining men, his usual cool demeanor long gone in a cataclysm of rage and sheer hatred. “So, who’s next? Come on. Come on. Let’s have some fun, little humans. Don’t you wish to play? You were so eager before with my angel there, you see? Where’d that spirit disappear to, I wonder. Come now…” he taunted, teetering on the edge of insanity.  
“Whatever man, you don’t scare me,” A second thug challenged in an attempt of fake bravado, he ran at him, fist raised and swinging. András catched the man’s fist mid-throw, twisting the arm at an unnatural angle. Two snaps followed along with the thug’s blood-curdling scream. András had fractured the entire forearm in the span of a second. Finally, only two men remained, the question of staying to avenge their fallen comrades, or flee, plastered across their pale, sweat-ridden faces. Either out of cowardice or intelligence, they ran away, never looking back. The devilman stood shoulders hunched, panting, bracing for the next onslaught. However, the world caught up with him and he realized where he is. Not in hell, not wading out eternity torturing dead souls, but on earth with Eremiel.

“Eremiel,” he breathed, finding the bruised and beaten man on the ground. András lowered his hand for Eremiel to take. 

Said man, who had been sitting criss-cross, stoned faced at the now retreating figures, looked up at him. His eyes traveled from his savior’s face to the hand offered to him and grasped it with his own, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Without a word, his gaze fell to the wrinkled and ruined picture and carefully picked it up. András glances at the photo, a smile ghosting across his lips. 

*

As the angel and the demon unlocked their apartment door a little more than half an hour later, they were immediately greeted by giant, black dog ebulliently wagging his tail. Flauros barked happily, sniffing them over to inspect where they had been. With another yelp, he raced down the hall, but returned in a blink of an eye, colliding into both his master and Eremiel. He then proceeded to smother András’ face in affectionate licks. András allowed for a few slobbery kisses before telling Flauros to ‘back down’. 

“Bloody hellhound,” he joked, scratching his floppy ears. “Good boy,” he cooed softly, the panegyric earning more tail wags, however András shewed Flauros from the entryway into the living room, taking the small bag of groceries into the kitchen and putting them away. 

“I’m going to go fold the laundry, it shouldn't be put off anymore.” Eremiel announced, heading over to the clothes basket in the hallway, collecting it in his arms to bring it over to the couch with him. He began to fold a random shirt from atop the wrinkly pile, working silently to himself.  
Without a second thought, András settled himself on the couch, beginning to fold the laundry as well. And so they sat, appreciating the banal act of doing laundry, a simple reprieve from the day. 

After a long, pregnant pause, Eremiel sighed deeply, “I still don't think I understand.” He murmured, staring at his hands full of a half-folded towel. “I’ve lived for thousands of years, but I do not understand so many things.” His grip tightened as his brows furrowed. “Humanity has freewill out of love, but they abuse it. Why does God love something with such sin? Is this what my Father, my Creator, tells me to believe in, to love? I asked him, ‘Why do You love them when they do not love You?’ and He said onto me, ‘Love does not force nor does it bind. I giveth them hate as I giveth them love. I giveth them the world, the skies, the seas to harvest and prospect; to mold in their ways as I have molded them in My image, in My likeness. For I have so loved the world, that I gave My only Son, that man believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.’” He explained, voice quivering and eyes glossing, “Are these creatures what Lord God commands me to serve? Creatures that ignore the dying, spit on the poor, degrade the young, hate those they do not know, beat upon those seek peace?”

“Tell me, András,” he pleaded, “for I cannot understand.” 

Unable to reply or stand the crumbling sight before him, András gingerly wrapped his broad arms around Eremiel’s shrinking form, bringing him close to his chest. 

Out from the shadows, Flauros appeared once more, travelling over to the weeping angel. His wet nose tickled the holy being’s face, while his tongue licked away bitter tears. András smiled grimly, “It appears Flauros took the liberty of my job.”

A soft chuckle escaped Eremiel, despite his sadness, and he stroked Flauros’ black fur on the back of his neck in appreciation. “He does it better than you,” he teased. 

“So it seems,” he reasoned, watching the hellhound rest his head atop Eremiel’s lap, big, brown eyes filled with innocent worry. András detached himself the brunet, reaching over to pick up the laundry basket and place it aside on the floor in exchange for the television remote. He hands the device to Eremiel, “Pick something to watch. I’ll go make us some coffee.”

Eremiel smiled, “Extra cream, please?”

 

 

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just a project for Etymology, but me and the other co-author decided to post it here as well.  
> Any feedback is welcomed! Thank you for reading!


End file.
